The city lights of Mumbai flickered outside the café's window as Kunal and Ananya sat across from each other. The glow from the neon sign outside bathed the table in a dull red hue. Ananya was scrolling through her tablet, occasionally glancing at Kunal, who was lost in thought. His fingers drummed against his coffee mug, his cigarette slowly burning in the ashtray beside him.
"I still can't wrap my head around it," Ananya muttered. "The resemblance is uncanny. Not just in looks, Kunal, but in presence."
Kunal exhaled deeply, leaning back into his chair. "You're talking as if I'm some lost prince from history."
Ananya shot him a look. "Kunal, you might not want to believe it, but the signs are there. The dreams, the voices, the sudden ability to read ancient scripts. And now… these illustrations."
She turned her tablet towards him, displaying an ancient painting of Kunala, the blind prince, standing in regal attire. The details were eerie—the facial structure, the sharp jawline, even the determined yet distant gaze. It was as if the artist had painted Kunal himself centuries ago.
Kunal frowned, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. "It's… weird, I won't lie. But it doesn't prove anything."
Ananya sighed. "Do you really believe that? Or are you just scared to admit that your life might be something far bigger than you ever imagined?"
Kunal didn't respond. His mind was in turmoil. For weeks, he had been trying to rationalize everything, but each day made it harder. The dreams were no longer mere fragments; they were becoming clearer, more vivid. He could hear voices from another time, feel emotions that weren't his, and worst of all—he could sense an approaching storm, something powerful pulling him toward an unseen destiny.
---
That night, as Kunal lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, the familiar heaviness returned. He knew sleep wouldn't be peaceful, but he welcomed the dreams anyway. At least in them, he felt closer to an answer.
As his eyelids grew heavy, the world around him shifted.
A grand palace. Torches flickering against marble walls. Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridors. He was no longer Kunal Shukla, the disillusioned corporate worker—he was Kunala, the lost prince of the Mauryan Empire.
A deep voice resonated through the vast hall. "Kunala, my son, you must prepare. The wheel of time turns once more."
Kunal turned and saw a towering figure dressed in golden armor—Emperor Ashoka. His gaze was piercing, yet filled with sorrow.
"Father?" The word slipped from Kunal's lips before he could stop it.
Ashoka stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "You were betrayed once. Blinded by those who feared your rule. But time has given you another chance. Your memories are returning, and soon, so will your purpose."
Kunal's heart pounded. "Why now? Why me?"
Ashoka's expression hardened. "Because the world is on the brink once more. The forces that conspired against you still linger in the shadows. And beyond this realm, others are watching. Some seek your rise, others fear it."
A sudden pain shot through Kunal's head, and the scene around him began to warp. He felt as if he was being pulled in multiple directions at once.
Then, darkness.
---
Kunal woke up with a gasp, drenched in sweat. His phone buzzed violently on the nightstand. With trembling hands, he grabbed it.
Ananya's name flashed on the screen.
"Kunal! You need to see this," her voice was frantic. "I found something—something that proves you're not just imagining things."
He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of the dream. "Where are you?"
"At the university library. Come now."
Without hesitation, Kunal grabbed his jacket, lit a cigarette, and stepped into the chaotic streets of Mumbai. The answers awaited him.
---
To be continued